


Resurrection and Rebirth

by Christer_Bleu



Series: The Dreaming [1]
Category: Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Multiple Selves, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 10:39:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11598921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Christer_Bleu/pseuds/Christer_Bleu
Summary: Do you understand? I am not an individual, I am the cast off of another given sentience. I am just another aspect of war, one piece of a greater whole shattered when first divinity walked through the boundary that divides our world from yours. Divinity cannot exist here in its rawest form, it can only exist here in pieces.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a build up to something epic that's been chasing itself around in my mind for a very long time. Like fifteen years out of the twenty-three that I've been alive. I absolutely **adore** Wonder Woman and I wanted to do something with her that I think would be nothing short of amazing. This is coming very slowly, I am editing stories that I started when I was in like fourth or fifth grade. For anyone who is still reading or trying to read Forward Unto Dawn I have a problem with typing... I'll write chapters and chapters with old school pencil and paper and then go to type them and give up like two hundred words or so in.

_“Wake, young one. Wake and see the world of Man before you in all it beauty and horror, see into the hearts of these men and see that which they have become and what they are capable of becoming. Wake, my young one and rule over them like the God you are.”_

There were things a person learned while falling in the dark.

Anticipation, for one, was a thing of terror. Every moment they thought, _“This is it, next I will hit,”_ but the moment passed, and still they cringed –and it was the anticipation that made their heart thunder, their skin crawled. A body was never meant to fall forever.

There was something else, too.

They could not see. They felt air pass over their body, the plummet of gravity, but that was the only sensation, the only reason they knew that they were still moving. They went on and one, and finally closed their eyes. Afraid of losing themself. Unable to do anything but endure.

They lost track of heartbeats. They forgot the world. In their head, they heard her voice. They say her face, and clung to that.

Held tight to her.


	2. Chapter 2

Finally, rock.

Sprawled on rock. Air, cold in their lungs. They had no memory of impact, just that they had been moving, and now they were not. They saw only darkness, and lay quite, listening hard. They heard their heart. The rasp of their breath; farther, a drip and faint splash. Water.

They pushed themself up and felt like an ancient: dizzy, thirsty, disorientated. They could not see. They waited for their vision to adjust – their eyes that had never failed them, no matter how dark. But they saw nothing. They were blind.

Their sight was so nonexistent, they wished they could ask someone if they still had eyes inside their head. They could feel them, sure, but the possibility of losing one’s mind tended to undermine even the most obvious of certainties.

Desperation rolled through them. Fear. They fought for calm. Took deep breaths. Nothing helped.

They were sitting in a narrow, rocky crater, a broken crack roughly the shape of their body. They could feel it with their hands. Slowly, they stood, teetering when their balance faltered, and forced themself to hold very still in the darkness. Listening, sensing. They rubbed their arms. Beneath their fingers the sinuous fibers of the skin suit standing out individually, crisp, rough.

“Diana,” they called out, just to hear their voice. It sounded tinny, small, but in their head, an endless litany; no time to feel sorry for themself, no time to fear, not time to dwell. Nothing they did was going to make them feel better. They might as well get going. Inside, in that place where her light lived within them, pulsed brightly. “My lady. I am in need of your direction.”

After a long moment, the light within pulsed brighter, the right side of their body tingled. They took that as a sign. They wandered through the darkness for a very long time. That light guiding them, and they found themself turning, slowly, depending on the tingling sensations in their limbs. The path was clear and silent, nothing beneath their fingers beyond the skinsuit, nothing in their mind except her name chanting endlessly, nothing in their heart except her light.


	3. Chapter 3

The sound began from somewhere deep inside, somewhere beneath their lungs where that soundless thunder roiled and the winds howled with no one to hear. It was a sound like a mountain crying, the storm caged within their body intensifying. Their voice rolling from their throat with the same power as a thousand monks chanting, ten thousand, countless thousands of voices rolled into one. Overwhelming, inhuman, a primeval **_om_** that could have been the hum of a star burning, or the blood in the veins – the sound of the spark that was the difference between the living and the dead.

It was all many could do to stay upright as their voice sank into the bones of all who could hear the scream, gaining strength. Golden light strained beneath her eye lids, threads of light that reached out of them burning brighter and brighter inside their chest – inside her own chest. That storm growing stronger, that sobbing mountain, those chanting voices inside their soul – the sound of that storm within their soul – drowning out the scream of primal terror that shook Thermyscira to the bedrock.

The scream was awful, monstrous but she could not hear them. The air around them vibrated like rippling waves, like the ocean at the epicenter of some great quake.

The scar beneath her ear tingled as those invisible threads of light pierced her there.

Sea green eyes had become two blazing suns in their face, the veneer of humanity peeling away to reveal that which lay beneath. A young god lost in their terror, drowning in it.

But this young god was hers in the most complete way, bound to her deeper than the Amazons which paid her tribute, tied to her closer than her mother. They were hers, an integral part of her power, as much hers and her heart and live, a limb she had obtained later in life, an extension of her own strength. They were her chivalry and honor and bravery and military justice to match Donna who was her valor and victory and military might.

The little one was unlike Donna, born divine to be her right hand in all things – the result of creation and not a miracle of mercy.

Those golden threads which had reached out to her worked in both directions, an uneven scale to suit the why of their creation, they could hide nothing from her. The soul bearer entirely for her eyes alone.

 _“Peace, little one. Quiet yourself or risk the destruction of our haven. You are no longer in that darkness.”_ no longer trapped beneath the underworld, in that wasteland where those who committed that unforgivable sin against the gods, a place of unspoken torment. The voice beneath the world that devoured all and drank the stars themselves.

It was a place from which there was no escape, a place from which they had escaped through a technicality. They had been created to be a part of her, a piece of herself which had been granted autonomy and more of her own power unable to be contained in this body. This child was a scrift carved into her soul, an impossible string of characters embedded into the light in their soul which was the spark of divinity.

To escape the place of silence and stillness they had submitted completely, willingly to her. Assimilated entirely, the sensation of swallowing that heat and light and power was unforgettable. The sensation of silk on her lips, down her throat; decadent and rich as sin made all the more magnificent by the willingness of their submission – how easily and eagerly they had yielded.

Even returned to physical form, eased by the grace of the Goddesses in the haven of the Paradise Islands, the Void Beneath the World haunted them. What humanity they had possessed had been stripped by the wasteland, their divinity a branch of her own and thus unable to be stripped away, left behind in that place.

Their bravery proved from the day of their reformation onwards, fear embedded deeply in them. The fear of the dark and silence now as much a part of them as she was.

And then there was the nightmares.

The two hours of somnolence required troubled, far less the time immediately after the miracle which had divided them again. She had thought, when she felt them lying peacefully abed she had believed that her absence would not negatively impact their sleep. She had always been able to calm them with a touch, the trade for the steady beat of their heart in battle – their touch stone as much as she was theirs.

The screaming had stopped, Thermyscira had stopped shaking and fallen to stillness. They had fallen to unnatural stillness, not the stillness of that Void but the painful stillness and silence that they fell to in battle. How they were in the moments before they released an arrow of light and heat and power, not a twitch or breath or beat of that mighty six chambered heart.

She had pulled on them with her words, that command which she so rarely gave. They were powerless to resist, had no desire to resist, and obeyed instantly and without question. Even without pulling upon the golden threads which connected them they obeyed without question.

So rarely did she order them. They were a part of her but autonomous with their own free will, hopes, dreams and desires. Still they were not a thrall in truth though only because she willed it.

The blazing suns in their face began to flicker, they did not dim, the storm in their breast raging louder and louder. The moral body still though the god within still screamed mindlessly, that thunder roaring with enough force the air around them trembled with it. Too much more and that tempest would escape and its fury would rend the Paradise Islands asunder whether they wished it or not, whether she wished it or not.

In that Void Beneath the World her voice could no reach them, those golden threads drawn taunt but not broken. In that Void Beneath the World, in that stillness and darkness and silence they had hallucinated and in their growing madness had recklessly unleashed that storm. The deafening thunder to overcome the silence, the howling gale to stir the stillness, the devastating lightning to tear away that darkness. She had felt those outpourings of power, the strength that was given to them in that moment of creation before they had been bound to her.

Chains of silk and velvet, the wisdom of the Goddesses and the cruelest test of her character. That she lived still, free of the Void Beneath the World, was a testament to the fact that she had indeed passed.

In that darkness below even Tartarus her little one had dreamed of her, of Thermyscira. Had wanted so desperately to return here they had fallen into the trap of longing and madness with only the storm of their divinity to reveal the truth. The only sensation they could trust, the truth of the skin tight suit they had once wore beneath their panoply and her voice in their mind. Every word she had ever said to them replayed again and again endlessly.

When those storms had broken over the wasteland she had not quieted them, she had only ever quieted that unfocused eruption of energy on this lane. But rational thought did not hold in the mind of one so deeply affected by such trauma.

Slowly, deliberately she sat beside their rigid form, sat straight up like the trunk of some mighty oak in bed. She could have moved far faster, moved beyond the sight of most mortals, and it would have made no difference. It was how she would have moved for a mortal born in Man’s World and to her little one none of that mattered.

What mattered was the firm grip she took in their had, a grip which would have been agonizing to so many others, what mattered was how she pulled them tight against her breast, the pressure of their teeth as they took a hold of her bared collar bone, the gentle brush of their tongue against her flesh.

 _“Still you suffer, you ache for the world in which you walk. With each dream you threaten that which we have sworn to protect.”_ against her they shuddered, the wetness of tears and delicate brush of eye lashes, crying silently, _“You will return to me for a time, to return to me and relearn this world and rediscover yourself through me.”_ their submission came instantly and with it a breathtaking relief even as the knowledge that the miracle that had divided them from her the first time could not be repeated.

They did not fight against the reality of their existence, the reality of what the reunion with her would mean for them. She would carry them within her and wander this world until the day came for them to be divided from her again.

 _“Together is all that matters now, I am only safe when I am with you.”_ so grateful to return to that light and heat and serenity within her, their everything.


	4. Chapter 4

Was it so absurd that some part of her was this, the squirming babe resettling to rest peacefully against her breast reborn again into their world from her. She had been the center of this child’s life before, before she had birthed the infant from her own womb further strengthening the chains of silk and velvet and sighing wind.

The babe wriggled against, resettling as she shifted to sign the blank form the doctors had presented her with. Acknowledgement, proof for men that this child, her child in so many ways, existed. Proudly she bestowed onto this little one the name they would wear like a cloak among men, a man which would forever separate them from what they had been before, what they had lost in that void beneath the world.

 _‘Athanasios Soterios Prince’_ title and station.

An immortal savior, the Prince to her Princess through the station was without power –their presence only tolerated because they were her. The embodiment of a single facet of a complex god, further proof of her unquestioned divinity among the Amazons.

Anathansios Soterios prince, her beloved son who thought the world of her and whispered the quiet comfort in the back of her mind. Nonsense words from the mind of a child too young to put words in the weight of emotion experienced as they lay in her arms. A babe once more, far younger than they had been before, a shy seven year old hiding behind the sailors who had brought the first godling to her.

A child again to be raised in her mother’s household, mother would scowl and pretend to be distressed or affronted that she’d returned to Thermyscira with a man again. The thought brought a smile to her face, would bring a smile to her mother’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, you're not crazy. This is supposed to be written like this, my hand to God the rest isn't going to be like this.


End file.
